


Hogwarts: Students in Peril

by Ivyclimb



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gryffindor, Hogwarts, Hufflepuff, M/M, Muggle/Wizard Relations, Ravenclaw, Slytherin, Witches, Wizards
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:01:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26626390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivyclimb/pseuds/Ivyclimb
Summary: “Headmaster Longbottom, I think my friend might be in trouble.” -- Join an ever-growing accumulation of Hogwarts students two generations after Harry Potter’s story unfolded. Told through multiple perspectives, each reader will have to figure out who is involved in the main plot, who is unimportant, what the danger is; and who caused it. Hogwarts -- the safest place in the world?





	Hogwarts: Students in Peril

Pov: Milo Yoon

Info: First Year Student. Muggleborn

Status: Last minute preparations - late, again.

:

Ollivadners was, unfortunately, not empty of shoppers. Despite it only being a couple days before he was set to leave for Hogwarts, Milo still didn't have a wand. He had hoped that all the first years had already bought one this close to departure. He had even begged his mom to wait until the day before they left, but she was adamant that they not go too close to the deadline. What if something happens and we have to send you off to school without a wand? She had asked. This had scared Milo to his very core and he then pressured his mother to take him straight away.

You see, he didn't want other people to make fun of him. He was new to this whole 'being a wizard' thing, and so far he wasn't enjoying it. Sure, his parents were proud and supportive of him, but they hadn't really given Milo much of a choice. He was going to Hogwarts, it seemed, whether he wanted to or not. He thought it was stupid - no one in their family had ever been a wizard. Why would they make him do something they know nothing about? Even his brother didn't seem to like the fact that Milo was leaving, though perhaps that was out of jealousy.

This led to Milo half-assing his wizard duties. He had hardly studied, hardly prepared, and hardly cared.

So, as Ollivander held out a box to him, Milo peered into it awkwardly.

"Go on, my boy, take it," the ancient man urged. He had a kind smile on his face which comforted Milo, but he still hesitated.

"Um," he mumbled, fidgeting his hands.

"What's the matter?" Ollivander wondered, leaning down so that he could hear Milo.

His face turned red. He opened and closed his mouth, only finding enough courage to speak when Ollivander gave him that comforting smile again.

"How-" he stuttered, "Which hand...erm...which hand to I hold it with?" Someone behind him laughed, and Milo's face reddened immensely.

Ollivander laughed as well, though Milo wasn't as bothered by it. It seemed the old wandmaker wasn't laughing at him, or even if he was, it was such a good-hearted laugh that Milo didn't care.

"Whichever one you want to, young wizard."

Milo hesitated again. "I just pick it up and wave it around?" He clarified for the dozenth time. Ollivdander nodded to him and held out the box again. Milo bit his lip, looking back at his mother. A mistake.

While she smiled kindly to him, some of the other kids waiting for Ollivander's expertise sneered at him or motioned for him to hurry up. He had gathered a bit of a line. Milo gulped and turned back to face the old man, suddenly very flustered and wishing more than anything that he could disappear.

He reached out his right hand, then thought better of it and grabbed the wand with his left. It felt awkward in his hand so he switched it, then switched it again. Gulping, he gave the wand a hesitant flick. Then the worst thing in the world happened: nothing. He gave the wand another flick, but it remained dormant in his grip. Embarrassed, he switched hands and tried again only to receive the same result.

He peered up at Ollivander in horror - that was it! He wasn't a Wizard. It was all a cruel joke! He expected everyone to start laughing at him, but nobody did.

"Ah, shame," someone called.

"Better luck next time!" Another said.

Milo didn't want to turn back around. He was confused about their support. Ollivander took the wand from his hand and gently placed it back into the box.

"I see," he said. Milo wanted to ask what he saw, but Ollivander was gone before he could speak. He snuck another look back at his mom, who gave him a thumbs up. Milo inwardly groaned - surely this was one of the cruelst forms of torture that existed.

When Ollivander came back, he was holding an identical box. And when he opened it, there was another stick inside. They all looked relatively the same to Milo, but he still fully believed that Ollivander knew the difference to every single one. His mother had done tons of research and insisted they get one here, because - according to her - Ollivander could speak to the wands, and knew which one belonged to each and every wizard. Milo thought that was a load of crap at first. Nobody could speak to a dead piece of wood. But standing there in front of the old wizard, Milo couldn't practically hear him conversing with the wands, even though no words were spoken.

"The wand chooses the wizard, apparently," she had said to him in the car. Milo had groaned and pushed his face against the window. Unlike him, his mother had done tons of research. She wanted him to be as prepared as humanly -wizardly?-possible. Of course, that meant saying stupid things and causing him second-hand embarrassment most of the time. Still, Milo was glad it was his mother taking him shopping and not his father. What a nightmare that would have been.

This time he grabbed the wand on his first try - left-handed. It still felt like he was holding a stick - most likely because he was. He felt like an idiot waving it around, but yelped when a thin stream of water began leaking from it and dribbled down his arm towards the ground.

"Nearly there," Ollivander announced. Milo gratefully let him take the wand and shook the water off his arm. He was very aware of everybody watching him.

"I'm suspecting larch will be the answer - just a different wand core, perhaps. Or even the same." Ollivander's voice echoed from behind the shelves as Milo watched him walk up and down on his ladder.

It was a bit of a wait this time. Ollivander opened several boxes before shaking his head and putting them back. Milo wished the old man would just announce that none of them would work. Maybe his mom could take him home and she would feel bad and agree that they could have takeout for dinner. Then he'd wake up the next morning and forget it all happened. His dad would make him come to the beach and watch birds, and his brother would make fun of how messy and unorganized his room was.

Instead, Ollivander let out an "Aha!" and held out another box with another stick for him to grab and wave around. Milo sighed and picked it up with his left hand, giving it a swish before even thinking. At first nothing happened. Milo was disappointed, again. But when he looked up, Olivander was smiling down at him. There was a warm feeling in his arm, he realized, and the room seemed to suddenly grow warmer. People behind him cheered. Ollivander nodded his head approvingly.

Milo's eyes widened. Was this what magic felt like? He glanced back at his mom, who had started to cry. He groaned, hoping nobody else paid attention to her overbearing emotions.

When they were checking out, Ollivander personally handed Milo his wand, safely encased in its box.

"Larch wood is highly sought after," he explained, "because it crafts some of the best-looking wands."

"Oh," Milo said. He didn't really care what his wand looked like. It was just a piece of wood. Mostly, he was glad everybody wasn't staring at him anymore. Glad to go home, glad to forget about being a wizard for just a little while longer.

"However," the wand maker continued, "often people are disappointed by it's tricky nature. You see, larch wands instill great courage and confidence in its users - but they expect their owner, deep down, to remain humble and true to oneself. Larch wands pick powerful wizards, Milo, but best you not let that power go to your head, else you'll have a misbehaving wand."

Milo left the store with ease. Something about Ollivander's words didn't sit well with him. It was probably just talk, he explained to himself. Ollivander said some magical bullshit to everyone who purchased a wand to make them feel special. Only Milo didn't want to feel special. He didn't even want to be a wizard.

Some of the kids tried to talk to him as he passed, but he kept his head down and pulled his mother along despite her protests.

In the car, his mom couldn't stop talking. "That man was so nice, Milo! And so knowledgeable."

"Uh-huh," he agreed glumly, pressing his head to the glass.

"He said something about having a phoenix feather in your wand - can you believe that? I didn't know those existed!"

"You didn't know anything magical existed, mom," Milo reminded her.

She lightly slapped his shoulder. "Milo Yoon, don't be such a grump. Now, where's your wand? Why aren't you looking at it? If I had a want, I wouldn't be able to put it down!"

He sighed. This is how it had been ever since that student letter appeared outside their door, addressed to him in fancy cursive lettering. They had all waved it off as a joke at first, expecting one of his - or even his brother's - friends to claim ownership to the note and ask if he had tricked any of them. But the letters kept coming, and the owls, and eventually a wizard himself showed up to explain that the letter was true. Milo was a wizard and it would be best for him to go to Hogwarts, 'the best wizarding school in the world'.

Milo hated school. He hated having a stereotypical Asian mom, always pushing him to do well in school and comparing Milo to his brother (thank God his dad was whiter than snow). Most of all, Milo hated that after years of trying to fit in and be normal, he was labeled special.

"Milo?" His mother asked. He grunted. "Where's your wand?"

He shrugged. "I put it in the boot."

His mom frowned at him. "Milo, you ought to be happier about this. I don't understand - your father, brother and I support you very much. Why aren't you supporting yourself?"

Milo closed his eyes and ignored her.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________

Pov: Homer Bird

Info: Half-Blood. Gryffindor. Starting third Year

Status: Making a difficult choice

:

Inside of Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop, Homer Bird was having a rather difficult time choosing the right writing utensil. As his eyes flicked back and forth over all the different styles and colors, his friends groaned and whined from where they stood waiting for him.

"It's not that hard, mate," Peter insisted.

"Just grab one!" Derry pleaded.

Homer ignored them. He had to pick the perfect one, you see, for this quill was not for his school year, but his sister's. This was to be her very first year attending Hogwarts, and Homer wanted her to have the proper quills to document all her experiences.

Currently, he stood between the gold and red sets - a great choice for any Gryffindor student. Homer had both sets, and a third with his house emblem on them. But which one would Emelia want?

Perhaps gold like the sun; she was a bright and friendly child. His hand reached out towards it, then redacted. What about red? Emelia claimed not to have a favorite color, but she had many red things. Homer took a half-step back to contemplate from a better view.

"Merlin's Beard!" May protested. Homer looked back at her, exasperated and face flushed red. She raised an eyebrow at him, arms folded across her chest angrily. Like Homer, she was already wearing her Gryffindor colors.

"It's a hard choice!" He defended, turning back to the shelves. He chewed his lip in concentration.

Suddenly, a hand reached out from behind him and picked up the gold set, shoving it into his arms.

"There," May said pointedly, "choice made. Little kids love shiny things."

"Finally!" Derry and Peter shared hopeful looks, standing up from their slouched positions on the shop's floor.

Homer glanced down at the quills, unsure if May had made the right choice. She probably just chose them because they matched the gold of her hair - May liked when things matched her hair.

"What if she's not in Gryffindor?" Another voice said. They turned to the corner Francis sat in, flipping through his book like it displeased him. He didn't look up at them when he spoke, and he had his wand in his mouth so it was hard to hear him precisely.

"I hadn't thought of that," Homer gasped. He had assumed his little sister would be a Gryffindor - how could she not? He was a Gryffindor, after-all, just as his father and his father's father, for several generations. There had hardly been anybody not Gryffindor in his family. Several Muggles, sure, but hardly anything else.

"Shut up!" May shouted at Francis, who gave an indignant shrug.

"Just saying."

Homer shook his head at May. "No, he's right. What if I give her these quills and she's sorted into Hufflepuff?"

May was exasperated. "They'll still work," she insisted, pulling on his sleeve towards the sale's counter. He pulled away from her.

"Hufflepuff is yellow, not gold!" Homer couldn't believe May would insist that Gryffindor shared a color with any other house.

"Okay, then get the yellow set," May said, eagerly taking the gold ones from his arms and replacing them with a set of pale yellow.

"What if she's not a Hufflepuff?" Homer asked, to which the other three groaned. Homer was growing a bit impatient with them. "Look, you all offered to come here and help me, so quit with your complaining!"

"We didn't know we'd be here all month," Peter exaggerated, "we thought we'd be in and out in enough time to sneak off to Knockturn Alley before our parents got back."

Homer narrowed his eyes. "What'd you want to go there for?" He questioned. May scoffed.

"Why wouldn't we? Who knows what cool and creepy things we'll see."

"Or the trouble you'll get into," Francis mumbled around his wand, turning another page with a frown.

"Exactly!" May sneered, grabbing Homer's sleeve again, pulling him to the door.

"May," he complained, shaking his arm loose. He returned the yellow quills to their place and took back his stance admiring the shelves. He was very aware of May glaring daggers into his back, but he waved it out of mind.

Knockturn Alley? They had joked about going there last year to get a rise out of their parents. But it had all been talk, and it hadn't continued over the summer. This was the first time Homer was hearing about it again, but nobody else seemed to question it like he did.

He tried not to think about it, but it seemed to weigh in his mind. Was he scared? He didn't like to think so - and he certainly didn't like for them to think so.

Finally, he grabbed a set of regular black quills. He wasn't going to be blamed for holding them up, he decided. He began to walk to the counter to make his purchase.

"You've got to be kidding me," May said as she trailed after him. "All this time and you go with what every other Hogwarts' student has?"

Homer kept his mouth shut as he handed the shopkeeper some coins and left.

Outside the store, Francis was waiting for them.

"Black?" He said, eyeing the quills, "nice choice."

________________________________________________________________________________

Pov: Mason Green

Info: Starting first year. Muggleborn

Status: Finding a good place to sit

:

The first thing Mason learned about wizards was that they were noisy. Magic seemed to inspire noise - something Mason wasn't a big fan of.

The Hogwarts express was no different. She had hoped to arrive early enough to find an empty compartment and seal it shut, but alas she was a muggleborn who had to suffer from traffic delays. She was sentenced to dodging runaway chocolate frogs, flying paper airplanes, missing pets and several other students. They all seemed happy, for the most part, except for the other first years who sat next to the windows and desperately waved goodbye to their parents.

Mason wished she could do the same. Her problem wasn't finding a window space - though she doubted she could anyway; her problem was that her parents had to leave almost immediately after dropping her off. They were late for some meeting at the factory and barely had enough time to give her a hug and a wave goodbye.

Two students in black and blue robes whizzed past her. Mason had to press herself tightly against the corridor wall to avoid being flattened by them as they laughed and tossed what looked like a stick of dynamite between them. She clutched her book tighter against her chest and sighed, meandering further and further down the seemingly endless train.

It was a beautiful sight. When she first passed through the brick wall and saw the big scarlet and black train, Mason had audibly gasped. She wasn't sure what exactly was the best part of it; the seemingly endless sky above, the hundreds of witches and wizards milling around her, the train too large to be real in front of her, or the sense that this was all happening finally setting in.

She was amazed, filled with joy and wonder and all-too excited...until she realized she didn't know a single other witch or wizard. When considering this, her mood soured quite a bit. She was sure that when she was sorted (she read quite a bit about that) she would have the chance to make plenty of friends and get to know people, but for now she was all alone. The idea of popping her head into a compartment and asking to join a group of people frightened her immensely - she had seen nobody else alone yet, and she wasn't about to ask any older students who were already sorted.

She was towards the end of the train when she heard the first whistle blow. A brief panic flared in her chest - would she be stuck out in the corridor for the whole ride?

Her answer was given almost immediately - she heard students complain as older ones in flowing robes and fancy pins commanded they find a seat so the train could leave.

She spotted the two boys playing with dynamite from earlier rush back her way, not giving her a second glance as they laughed and opened a compartment door, slamming it shut behind them.

Mason took a deep breath and glanced behind her toward the front of the train. The prefects weren't close enough to see her yet, but their voices were growing louder. She began to shuffle hurriedly down the corridor, glancing in every compartment she passed. Most of them seemed full, and those that weren't soon were when other confused first-years began shoving themselves in random ones. Some got kicked out, the doors slamming in their faces, but others were let in with laughs and warm welcomes. Each time one got full, the door would close, leaving Mason as the black sheep.

It was the third to last compartment on the right side where she found her savior. A lone boy sat in the corner, his head bowed low as he read from a book. Mason gave a sigh of relief and looked up at the ceiling in gratitude. A second whistle sounded, and before she could get scolded, Mason opened the door and slid inside.

He was startled, and when he looked up so was she.

The boy in the compartment looked awful. His skin was pale, his hair was shaggy and his dull eyes lacked a spark of life. Worst of all was his face. Long, ragged scars ran diagonally down it, from his right eyes to the bottom left of his chin. They were pink and numerous - some seemed fresher than others and irritated. It was as if some foul beast had attempted to scratch away his face and had somehow taken his life essence instead.

She stared at him until he looked back down at his book, ashamed. Mason had no idea what to say or do. She clutched her book as tight as she could until the spine pressed uncomfortably hard against her ribs. She glanced down at it, then back at the boy. He was staring hard at his book, but it was obvious that he wasn't reading it. Instead, he seemed to be waiting for her to do something.

She cleared her throat and he flinched. "Do you mind if I join you?" She asked as politely as she could. She held up her book, "everywhere else is packed full and I can't find a good place to sit down and read."

The boy glanced up at her, bewildered. It took him a moment to speak after his mouth opened, but eventually he agreed. "Y-yeah. Sure."

She forced herself to the bench opposite of him, sitting and opening her book on her lap. He stared at her, and she raised her eyes up to meet his.

"I'm Mason," she said awkwardly. "I won't bother you anymore."

She turned her eyes back towards her book, trying not to pay him any more attention. She thought he had gone back to reading as well when he spoke up again.

"I'm Theo."

She looked up at him and smiled. "Nice to meet you."

__________________________________________________________________________________

Pov: Peter Lloyd

Info: Third year Gryffindor. Pureblood

Status: Not listening and not caring

:

May was complaining again. What she was complaining about, Peter couldn't care to recall. He was sitting next to Francis, watching the boy's leg bounce up and down as he read and chewed on his thumb. Peter blinked at him, wondering why he was so twitchy. It was common for Francis to act like he didn't care and to read when they hung out - often Peter wondered if Francis really was their friend, or just hung with them to escape his awful roommates. Whatever the case, Francis had seemed doubly agitated and frantic today.

"Peter!" May slapped his arm and he jumped, rubbing the sore spot that was now forming.

"Ow!" He complained, turning to give her a murderous look, only to see that she had beat him to it. He shrunk down under her dark gaze, giving her a sneer. "What'd you want now?"

"Stop getting distracted, we're talking about important things," she snapped, running a hand through her curls and huffing indignantly. Peter shared a look with Derry, who tried to hide a smile.

"What important things?" Peter asked. He hated feeling left out. He looked at Homer, who grinned and shrugged at him. Peter looked at May. "Well?" He insisted.

May gloated in his confusion, making him want to pinch her. "Maybe if you paid attention, you'd know," she replied. Peter made a face at her, and she sighed.

"We were discussing the room of requirements."

"But I reminded her that it got burned down during the war," Homer added.

May scoffed. "Yes, but all we have to do is find it, and require a room that isn't burnt."

Peter made a face. "Would that work?"

"Duh," May said.

"Of course not," Homer insisted at the same time. The two immediately began to argue. Peter imagined them as monkeys, screeching and rolling on the floor together; fists and fur flying. The thought made him snicker.

Across from him, Derry was waving his wand and staring at it intently. Peter kicked his foot, causing his roommate to look up in questions. "You have to say words, you git." Derry's eyebrows furrowed.

"May said that great wizards can cast spells just by thinking." Peter snorted.

"Can not."

"Can too!" May's voice interrupted. She was paused mid-argument with Homer, her face red as she stared Peter down. "They say Dumbledoor could do it."

Peter rolled his eyes. "They say a lot of things about the old git. Anyway, what makes you think Derry's a great wizard?"

May squinted her eyes in disgust. "I never said anything close to it. I just told him that great wizards could."

Derry jumped up from his seat, pointing his wand at her. "Duel me right now, then!" He challenged, "and we'll see which of us is the great wizard." May drew her own wand as quick as a whip, taking a step towards him.

"With pleasure!" She shrieked. One of her curls stuck out awkwardly from her head, but somehow it just made her look more terrifying. Derry gulped and sat down, stuffing his wand in his pants.

"Oh, nevermind it," he mumbled glumly. May was extremely too satisfied as she sat down again, folding her hands in her lap.

"As I was saying," she continued, "we've got to do something great this year. We're entering our third year, guys - we've got to make it count."

"Actually, Francis is a fourth year now," Peter reminded them, looking over at their silent friend in the corner. He was the only one already in robes, a pile of black and green cloth as he sat hunched over his book and flipped through its pages.

"That's why it's even more important," May insisted. "We've got to help Francis - and ourselves - become legends at this school. Think about it. What have we accomplished so far?" She looked out at them in questions, but they all knew better than to interrupt her. She glared pointendly at Homer, who sighed as she said, "Thanks to someone, we didn't even make it to Knockturn Alley this year."

"So we've pranked a few people," she continued, "who hasn't? Think of all the names you know from Hogwarts. Harry Potter. The Weasley twins. Dumbledoor. They've all done extraordinary things. We need to step our game up."

"So what's the plan for this year?" Derry asked, sitting forward. The boy had seemingly forgotten he was mad at May, and his sharp features were now tight with anticipation for her answer.

"I was hoping to try out for the Quidditch team," Homer offered to the group.

May immediately shot him down. "You won't have time for that. We need to focus. Forget studying, forget stupid sports, and forget meaningless pranks. They're not just going to stand by and let us into the big league, we've got to force our way in."

Homer frowed, obviously not pleased with her answer. Nevertheless, he caved. "So what do we do?"

_____________________________________________________________________________________________--

Pov: Hazel Clemmons

Info: Starting first year. Pureblood

Status: Hell yea

:

Hazel was beyond glad to be sharing a compartment with another first year black girl. Her name was Rosie, and she was awesome.

Sure, Hazel knew lots of wizard children. Many of whom were on this train. As a pureblood, Hazel had the opposite problems as a lot of the other first-years did; she already had friends to sit in compartments with. For example, Molly Navarro, the short, half-latin girl who was sitting next to her. Hazel had known Molly for a couple of years now, ever since the Navarros moved into the house next to hers. They were an odd family, the Navarros, but Molly was nice enough and therefore they had become friends.

This didn't stop Hazel from being grateful to meet another black witch. Hazel was eleven years old and until today she hadn't met another black witch (besides her cousins, obviously) her age.

They were talking, of course, about what house they wanted to be sorted into.

"It better be Gryffindor," Rosie was saying, "if it's not Gryffindor I might as well drop out."

Molly laughed. "What's it matter that much for?" She asked. Her dark hair was tied in the messiest ponytail that Hazel had ever seen. She was pretty sure more hair was out of it than in it - yet Molly didn't seem to care. She admired that about the girl.

Rosie scoffed. "Well I'm not about to disappoint my family's Gryffindor lineage by being sorted into another house."

"Well, I suppose we can rule Hufflepuff out of your options," Molly laughed. Hazel began to laugh as well, but Rosie sat stone-faced, not finding Molly's quip at all amusing.

"It better not be Hufflepuff," Rosie insisted, "then I'd definitely drop out." She turned to Hazel. "What about you?"

Hazel shrugged. "Slytherin's my hope. Same as you, I suppose, my family's got a history of it." She didn't really care if she ended up in a different house; she knew her parents wouldn't be disappointed. She just wanted to be like them, was all.

Rosie nodded approvingly. "I see. Well, I don't believe in all that talk that Gryffindor and Slytherins have to be enemies. We'll be friends, you'll see." Hazel smiled and nodded in agreement.

"And you?" Rosie asked, raising an eyebrow at Molly.

Molly smiled. "Well, I suppose being a Hufflepuff doesn't sound so bad."

___________________________________________________________________________________________________

Pov: Thomas "Tom" Underhill

Info: Starting first year. Half-blood.

Status: Pissing off the prefects

:

As it turns out, prefects don't like getting Staying Sludge sprayed all over their new Hogwarts robes. Marius had been handed the package by two Ravenclaw boys, but it had been Tom's idea to set it off in the prefect's compartment, and Nico's wand that activated it. It was the perfect plan; they weren't sorted yet, so no points could be deducted from their house.

The prefects, however, seemed to be in a bad mood because of it. Several had shrieked, and several more were now angrily yelling at them as they chased the boys down the train corridor, dodging sweet's carts and other patrolling prefects.

It would have made sense for the boys to quiet themselves for an easier escape, but getting chased by students in bright pink and orange cloaks was far too enjoyable to keep silent about. They hooted and hollered as they ran, high-fiving themselves and other students who poked their heads out of compartments to see what all the fuss was about.

Running on a moving train had to be one of Tom's greatest experiences. His center of gravity felt all off, and judging by the way his friends slammed into him, theirs were too.

He hadn't known Marius and Niko for more than a week and they were already his best friends. They had met at Diagon Alley while shopping for school supplies. He met Marius first, an eccentric young French wizard who was small but owned a big mouth. Tom was immediately drawn to his personality. Then, after their families had agreed to go shopping together for the rest of the supplies, they had met Niko, the dark-haired Italian kid who seemed to know a lot about everything for being interested in nothing. After that day they had practically promised to remain friends, no matter what house divided them.

Tom knew a lot of first years going to Hogwarts - and older students, too. He wasn't afraid to talk to strangers or introduce himself, something he admired about himself greatly. Still, these two gits running next to him were the best sort.

"Here!" Niko shouted from ahead of them, pulling open a compartment door. Tom tackled Marius inside, covering the boy's mouth as he began to howl with laughter. Niko made shushing sounds from above them as he peered through the window, watching for patches of pink and orange getting closer.

"Hide!" He shouted suddenly, and Tom sprang to his feet, grabbing a fistfull of Marius' shirt and dragging him with. They stood flat against the walls on either side of the door, just out of sight from anybody peering in.

Tom looked at the compartment for the first time, surprised to see it occupied by two other people. They seemed just as surprised, staring at him and his friends in complete shock. Oddly they both seemed to be reading (where was the fun in that?) and upon closer inspection Tom noticed that the boy had a series of rather hideous scars on his face.

"Tell me when they're gone," he mouthed to them, hoping they wouldn't get ratted out. They peered at the window in the door, and Tom shared a nervous but light-hearted look with Niko.

Finally, the boy spoke up.

"They're gone."

Tom let out a deep breath, pushing Marius away. He stumbled and fell onto the floor, causing Niko to snicker and collapse onto the bench next to the other boy.

Tom tried to catch his breath, running a hand through his hair, then holding it out to the boy. "Thanks for the save, mate. Name's Tom. These two plonkers are Marius and Niko."

The boy hesitated for a moment, then reached out to shake his hand. "Theo," he said.

"Pleasure," Tom answered, turning to shake the girl's hand. It turned out her name was Mason, and they were trying to pass the time to Hogwarts by reading, which none of the boys could understand.

"But why?" Marius asked, frowning. They didn't seem to have a good answer.

Conversation quickly steered to why they had crashed into the compartment, to which Tom proudly announced they had set off Staying Sludge on the prefects. While they explained to Mason what that was, Tom saw Theo smile as he looked back down at his book.

The two of them didn't talk much, but they didn't protest when Tom or the others did, so they stayed in the compartment for the rest of the ride. At one point the Honeydukes Express trolley rolled past and Niko bought enough chocolate for them all to share, including Mason and Theo. Mason declined, but Theo eventually caved and helped himself to quite a few licorice wands.

Then, towards the end of the ride when the whistles began to sound again, each of them left to change into their robes. Tom found his tie quite constricting and loosened it. Upon seeing this, Marius and Niko followed suit, also untucking their shirts and unbuttoning the first button.

When the train stopped, Tom looked back at them before he left. "We're going to go see how many chocolate frogs we can catch. Want to come?"

Theo looked up uncertainty, like he couldn't believe the invitation was being extended to him. Tom felt bad for the poor deformed kid, but before he could say anything else Marius spoke up.

"They're fun to put in people's shoes. I do it all the time at home."

Theo laughed at this, getting up and limping after after them. They left Mason on the train, claiming that she would rather read a few more sentences, and anyway, she didn't like chocolate that much.


End file.
